


The Anxiety of Being Seen

by Peccatium



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Crowley Has an Anxiety Disorder (Good Omens), Crowley has problems talking about his feelings, Crowley has social anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Lack of Communication, Recovery, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Social Anxiety, aziraphale wants to help, check the beginning notes for possible extra trigger warnings in chapters please, it gets better though, they both learn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:33:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23735428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peccatium/pseuds/Peccatium
Summary: Crowley has been struggling with social anxiety for over 6000 years now. He has strategies and ways to help him through the day and everything's fine,it's fine.But after the Apocalypse Aziraphale wants to spend more time with him and he notices how anxious Crowley gets around other people. Aziraphale only wants to see him happy, so he decides to try and help.One demon, who can't communicate, and one angel, who is not trained in therapy, later and things have quickly gone awry.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 28





	1. Oh no, he noticed...

**Author's Note:**

> tw in this chapter: mention of body image issues, mention of using alcohol to cope with anxiety
> 
> idk if this is story is any good
> 
> This is basically a vent, describing my frustration with exposure therapy and the phrase "if you need anything, just talk to me" or "talk to me, it'll make you feel better", as well as my own incapability of talking about my problems. I have social anxiety, and these are the only things people want me to do to help me recover.  
> I can only talk from my perspective and other people with social anxiety might experience things differently.
> 
> edit: changed the title cause I thought it was too long

It wasn’t that he disliked other people. But the things they might be thinking about him, those were the problem. And he knew, logically, that they were too focused on themselves or what was going on their lived to even notice him. But there was a chance they _might_ still _notice him_. It was enough to send his mind spiraling.

Crowley couldn’t remember his time in Heaven very clearly, but even back then he didn’t go out of his way to make friends. Back then, he was okay with being around other people. Then the Fall happened and he grew self-conscious. His wings were ugly and black, and his eyes a sickening yellow. How could anyone look at him and not think “disgusting”. And he was new to having a human corporation as well. Was it too thin? Too fat? Too tall, or maybe just too lanky? The thought of sticking out among the humans scared him. If they found out he was a demon, what would they do to him?!

He had also met an angel on the wall of Eden. Crowley hadn’t meant to start up a conversation, he just wanted to watch the sunset later that day and ~~stupid like he was~~ hadn’t noticed the angel until it was too late. Turning tale und running away would have been even more awkward, so he panicked and blurted out “That went down like a lead balloon.”

And immediately berated himself for it in his head. That was no way to start a conversation with a being who could very easily _kill him permanently_! Stupid!

But that’s how he met his best friend for over 6000 years (also his only friend, but that didn't matter, Crowley had no intention of gaining more). Spending time with Aziraphale was a nice past time, even if those meetings tended to drain him a bit. The angel was fun to be around and it was worth it.

Then the apocalypse happened, and after that completely bogus _thing_ was over, they settled back into their normal lives. 

Aziraphale had other plans, however.

\--------

Crowley jumped a little as his telephone rang. He quickly checked the number on the display, took a breath and answered.

“Hello Crowley, this is Aziraphale.” the angels’ cheerful voice greeted him. At this point, Crowley had given up on explaining to him that he didn’t need to introduce himself whenever he called, ~~and that was definitely because he could see the number Aziraphale was calling from, and _not_ because Crowley wouldn’t pick up the phone for anyone else~~.

“Hi, angel.” This was how their phone conversations always went. He could deal with this. Just stick to the script. 

“I wanted to ask you if you want to go out to dinner tonight? A new restaurant opened up just a few streets away!” Aziraphale was excited, that was good. And it sounded honest. ~~Hopefully.~~ But it was always so nerve-wracking, anticipating other people’s moods without being able to see their faces. 

As soon as the word “restaurant” registered in his mind however, his heart rate picked up. But he can’t say no. The angel wanted this. _He can’t say no._

“Yeah, sure. When should I pick you up?” Who was he kidding… It always went like this.

“If you could come by at around 10 pm, that would be perfect.” He sounded happy. Good. Safe.

“Alright, see you then. Bye.” 

“Goodbye, until later!” 

His hands were only shaking a little when he put the receiver down. With a sigh, he looked at his watch. 3 pm. He had 7 hours. Crowley set an alarm for half an hour before 10 on his phone, paused, and set another two half and an hour before that. Just to be sure he wouldn’t be late.

Why did it have to be a restaurant? If Aziraphale wanted to go out, couldn’t they go to a park? Those had a least not as many humans in it. No, he should be grateful the angel wanted to see him at all.

\--------

Hours spent anxiously glancing at the time, a very fast drive, and another not as fast drive, because Aziraphale had to give him directions, and they were seated at a table in the back of the restaurant. It had a rustic feel to it, all dark wood floors and exposed brick wall accents here and there. ~~And heavy wooden chairs, that Crowley was afraid of moving out so he could take a seat, because that would certainly be loud. Good thing he was lanky.~~

The angel was sitting across from him and busy enjoying his meal, so Crowley had nothing else to do other than stare into his coffee and try to ignore all the people around them. He could almost feel eyes on him. He hoped they wouldn’t think of him as weird because he had only ordered coffee. Or maybe they were looking at him because he and Aziraphale made such an odd pair. Were they judging Aziraphale for being seen with this strange punk/goth looking guy? Or the other way around?

Crowley clenched his hand around his cup and quickly took a sip. The intense flavor of black coffee helped to distract him momentarily. He looked at the angel’s plate to try and guess how much longer he had to be here.

Aziraphale meanwhile was trying to work out a different problem. 

He had no idea what he should do in regards to Crowley. After the apocalypse, they were spending more time together than ever, and he had noticed a worrying trend in the demon’s behavior. The more people were around them, the more nervous he seemed to become. With each time Aziraphale invited him out, he hoped it would be gone this time, but it never was.

True to form, he had spent hours researching this topic, when he had realized this wasn’t just a shift in mood. Everything he read pointed to one thing: Social anxiety. He had even busted out his old Computer when all his books on the subject turned out to be outdated. After clumsily clicking his way through various articles, it was worrying how much it fit.

He wanted to help Crowley and looking at him now, hunched over his coffee, shoulders drawn up and hands lightly shaking, that feeling was only growing stronger. But he wasn’t sure how to approach the subject. He’d had a spike of bravery today, that went away as soon as Crowley had answered the phone. And because he couldn’t think of anything else in the moment, he had invited him to a restaurant. Which had been a bad idea.

He needed to talk to Crowley about this. At least to tell him he wasn’t alone and so he had someone to talk about this.

He put down his fork and knife and looked at the demon in front his him. “Would you like to come to the bookshop for a glass of wine?”, he asked.

Crowley jerked his head up a little too quickly for it to seem casual. “You know how to tempt me, angel.” he said with a smirk, and Aziraphale wished it didn’t look quite so forced. But instead of saying anything, he just smiled back at him.

\--------

Crowley would have rather gone home after the restaurant. He was tired, and his chest still felt a little too constricted, and his heart was beating a bit too fast. Being alone in his flat with absolutely no chance of seeing another person sounded so lovely right now. The promised alcohol would make interactions easier tho, and it wasn’t like he could say no anyway.

But he was not even done with his first glass when the angel spoke up.

“Crowley, I’d like to talk to you about something.” Oh no. Did he do something wrong? Was the angel annoyed by him, maybe because he didn’t even try to make conversation during dinner? Did he not want to see him again?

“And please don’t worry, it’s nothing bad.” Aziraphale continued. Well, too late for that.

“I’ve just… I’ve noticed that you always looked quite tense when we were around other people,” _Shit. Please don’t go there!_ “and I realized you might have social anxiety” _No no this isn’t happening!_ “and I wanted you to know that I’m here if you want to talk and that, if you would let me, I’d like to help you get better.”

He knows. _Oh fuck._ Crowley’s heart was beating against his rib cage. Somehow forming thoughts other than “fuck” and “he’s expecting a response, _answer!_ ” was impossible. So he stuttered out “Sure.”

The hopeful expression that lit up the angels’ face was just the final nail in his coffin. He couldn’t go back now and beg for Aziraphale to drop this.

“Thank you, Crowley! I’ll promise to do my best, but if at any time you feel uncomfortable, you say it.”

As if that would happen.

“So I thought that maybe Exposure Therapy would be good to start off with. Do you know what that is?”

Crowley just nodded. Aziraphale looked so genuinely happy to be able to help him. And he did actually know what he was talking about. He had tried it years ago. He worked himself up to go to a museum. Went horrible. Now he never went to museums. ~~Unless Aziraphale asked, in which case, he would quietly panic until he could leave.~~

“Oh good, then I don’t have to explain.” Aziraphale continued. “If it’d be okay with you, we can go to a park tomorrow. We haven’t done that in a while. What do you think?”

“Y- eh yes, we can do that. What time?” He needed a specific time, guessing when it would be a good time to pick the angel up was too nerve-wracking. The possibility of coming at an inopportune time felt like certain doom.

“In the afternoon… Hm. How about 2 pm, is that okay with you?”

“Works for me.” Crowley plastered a smile on his face, remembering to close his eyes just a little bit, so those wrinkles appeared that made a smile look real. His head was still full of static and too focused on not fucking this up and upsetting the angel. It hadn’t fully sunken in what had just happened.

Aziraphale beamed back at him tough and offered to refill his wine glass. He switched effortlessly to a different subject, while Crowley only half listened. They spent the rest of the evening like, the angel making pleasant conversation. All the while Crowley focused on what to say, how to sit, how to look, looking at his facial expression, body language, is my voice the right volume, should I sound more serious or easy-going, _am I doing okay_ , to make sure Aziraphale had fun.

The wine did help, but when he looked at his watch and saw that it was an acceptable time to go home now, Crowley still felt immensely relieved. After saying their goodbye’s (and purging himself of the alcohol, responsible driving was important), he drove back to his flat like on autopilot. 

Only once the door closed and locked itself behind him, he sank to the floor.

Aziraphale had not been supposed to find out. But he had. And Crowley had said yes to letting him help.

Not being so anxious around other people would be nice, sure, but if he’ll ever deal with it, he wouldn’t burden Aziraphale with it as well.

But now he had.

There was no turning back now.

He had truly, spectacularly fucked up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to explain the reasoning of certain behaviors and fears, but idk if my explanations make sense to others. Please let me know if some things were unclear because I want to portray what it's like to have social anxiety. Like for example the line about the heavy wooden chairs: to me it's perfectly clear that the loud noise might attract the attention of other patrons, and that would mean they might form a bad opinion because they might be annoyed by the noise or just by looking at Crowley.  
> No idea how other people think, so let me know xD.
> 
> English isn't my first language so if you find any spelling and/or grammar mistakes, please tell me so I can improve! :D
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


	2. Phone calls suck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw in this chapter: description of an anxiety attack over making a phone call
> 
> I spat this chapter out in a rare fit of motivation, fueled by coffee and the unpleasant experience of getting a phone call I had today. Please don't expect other chapters to get finished this soon; I have no idea how to make myself write xD
> 
> Also, I haven't been to a park in _years_ so idk how to write "park anxiety" (?), whoops...

After an unrestful sleep, Crowley spent most of the next day worrying over this new situation. Just thinking about talking to anyone about what he was feeling or thinking made his chest tighten uncomfortably. He had tried distracting himself from his feelings by tending to his plants or, when that didn’t stop his thoughts, watching some mindless tv show. Time was simultaneously ticking too fast and too slow towards 2 pm. One hour before that, Crowley was sitting in his living room, jangling his car keys in one hand while he scrolled on his phone with the other. 

He knew it was too early to start driving to Aziraphale, but he just couldn’t concentrate on anything else. So he sat there, toying with his keys in an attempt to calm himself until he could go to the bookshop and would not be arriving too early. He was dreading the meeting, but not arriving on time was just as bad.

 _Aziraphale is only doing this to help me, I should be grateful_ , he sighed in his head. _If I want to be mad at anyone, it should be me. I’m the one that said yes._

Crowley checked the clock. Still too early.

 _It’s only a park. I can do parks!_ Lots of open space and fresh air and if he was lucky he could maneuver them to one of the secluded benches. 2 pm; the one atop the hill in their favorite park was always largely free of people. He had memorized which sections of which park were the most empty at pretty much every time of day. If he had to leave his flat, he knew precisely which streets to take so he’d meet the least humans. If the angel wanted to go to a restaurant, he could even suggest the most empty one at any given time.

Crowley didn’t even do it entirely consciously anymore, either. Always being aware of where the least people were was normal for him.

He glanced at the clock again and stop jangling his keys, gripping them tighter. If he started driving now, he’d be ten minutes early, okay, that wouldn't be _too_ early. Practically heaving himself out of the chair, he left his flat. 

The door at the bottom of his apartment buildings staircase had a milky white window, which was great for not running into someone. He spotted the shadow of a person pass by as he rounded the corner and stopped, listing for any other tenants, so he wouldn’t be seen standing awkwardly on the stairs. Once the person outside was a safe distance away, he walked to the Bentley.

\--------

It was the afternoon on a weekend, and there were considerably more people at the park than Crowley would have liked. Aziraphale had brought a blanket and picnic basket, and they were sitting on one of the numerous plane grass fields. Crowley had angled himself sideways to the gravel trail nearby, so he neither had to look at all the people passing by nor was his back completely exposed to them. He would have vastly preferred a spot beneath a tree, so he’d have something to hide behind, but when Aziraphale had suggested setting up the blanket in the sun, he couldn’t refuse.

To be fair, the angel did really try to make this comfortable for him, making pleasant conversation about the fauna, a topic Crowley could talk about for ages, and attempting to generally distract him from his anxiety. It was working, even though he did tense up slightly every time someone would walk near them. 

And Crowley felt even more watched than usual. Now that Aziraphale knew about his fear, he couldn’t help but notice all the sidle long glances directed at him. He tried to seem relaxed and hoped it would convince the angel.

After the food was eaten and the coffee and tea were empty, they were packing up their stuff when Aziraphale asked: “How was today? Were you feeling okay?”

Crowley groaned internally. He had seriously hoped he could avoid this bit. “Yeah, it was nice.”

“Really? Not too many people? I’m sorry, I just noticed you were quite tense sometimes.” 

“No, no, it was really okay. Not too many people.” He didn’t want to explain how the smaller number didn’t immediately mean less anxiety. Because then he’ll have to explain how the mere possibility of being looked at makes him uncomfortable. And then he’ll have to explain that he’s afraid of being judged. And then he’ll have to tell Aziraphale _how much was wrong_ _with him_ and the angel would surely try to disagree. Crowley didn’t want to manipulate him into giving him compliments and telling him empty phrases, that he didn’t really mean.

Giving Aziraphale a big smile with extra crinkly laugh lines around the eyes, to make it real, he reassured him: “Today was nice, honestly.”

The look of joy he got back sent a little jab to his heart.

\--------

They continued like this for the next week, going out to parks around the city. And every time they got up to leave, Aziraphale would ask him how he felt. And every time Crowley would say it had been nice. Their little outings _were_ rather pleasant, always talking about topics he enjoyed and sometimes even sitting under trees where he didn’t feel quite so exposed. That didn’t make up for the exhaustion that hit him each time as soon as he got home, though. 

The door to his flat would close, and suddenly he realized how stressed he’d been the whole day. When he was outside, or around the angel, he was so focused on Aziraphale’s or other people’s mood and behavior, and how he should respond, that he didn’t notice the toll it was having on him.

He tried to make up for it by tending to his plants or shutting off his brain by watching some tv show, but each day he woke up, he still hadn’t fully recharge.

By the end of the week was emotionally drained and wanted nothing more than to spend a few days locked away in his flat.

It was still relatively early in the morning, and Crowley had been thinking about calling Aziraphale, telling him he couldn’t make it today. They hadn’t planned anything, so he wouldn’t inconvenience the angel by canceling plans. But what should he say? He’d need a reason, and now that Hell didn’t send him on jobs anymore, he never had anywhere to be.

Aziraphale had said he’d call him about going out because he hadn’t known in advantage when he’ll be free. Crowley would have to call first since telling him outright “no” was not an option. But the angel had some kind of appointment today. What if he interrupted?!

Crowley worried his lip with his teeth. He was waiting for his coffee to finish brewing while staring at the blinking cursor on his phone. If he wanted to call Aziraphale, he needed a script. This had to be perfect with a plausible reason for not meeting him and conveying that Crowley liked going out to make the angel happy. 

Everything he could come up with sounded so fake, and now he was just looking at the blank page, hoping the blessed thing would just write itself. His coffee was done before he could come up with anything, though, and he wandered with his cup into his office.

Passing his plants, he got an idea: The plants! He could say he needed to repot them ~~even though the pots could just miraculously change size, and the plants knew not to grow too big~~. Plopping down in his chair, he began to work on his script. 

Half an hour later, it was done and not half bad, he hoped. That still left him with actually making the call, though. He knew what to say from memory, he had practiced, the script was lying in front of him, he just needed to pick up the phone and push the buttons.

He laid his hand on the receiver, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Aziraphale had an appointment and what if he called at an inopportune time? What if he interrupted something important? Or maybe he’d even make a fool out of himself by stuttering through his lines. The last time he had called someone, was eleven years before the apocalypse and only because it had been really important.

The script was right in front of him, he could do this. Just… pick up the receiver and dial the number. He just needed to read from the script. If he really did call at an inopportune time, Aziraphale would surely let him know, and he wouldn’t waste his time. It would be fine. Pick up the phone.

Just pick up the phone.

Say your lines. 

Come on, stop being such a coward.

Pick up, dial, read off lines, easy.

His hand was shaking on the receiver.

He would surely stutter. And he would probably interrupt Aziraphale. 

Come one, it was easy. It would be fine.

Aziraphale will be mad if he interrupts his appointment. 

With the way his hand was shaking, his voice would not be any better.

It was easy, it would be fine.

_He will embarrass himself._

_Aziraphale will be annoyed. Maybe even mad at him!_

Pick up the phone.

Pick up the phone! 

He couldn’t do it. His eyes were burning with unshed tears and he let go of the phone to fist his hands into his hair. The fear of embarrassing himself by stuttering or forgetting what he wanted to say and the possibility of annoying Aziraphale coiled itself around his chest. Breathing was getting harder. Crowley jerkily stood up and stumbled away from the telephone.

Once he was in the next room he leaned against a wall and angrily wiped away his tears. He already felt pathetic enough for not being able to make a simple phone call, he didn’t need to cry about it too. He sniffed a few times and tried to get his breathing under control. 

After a few minutes of going through a breathing technique he had learned ages ago, Crowley slid down the wall and curled his legs close to his body. Leaning his head on top of his crossed arms, he stared off into nothing.

Now he felt even more tired than before. He couldn’t even make a phone call, how pathetic was that? 

Crowley wasn’t sure how long he sat there, but he eventually stood up again and walked back to his office. After all, Aziraphale would eventually call and he had to be nearby so he could answer. His phone with the script open on it was still lying on the table. Looking it over one last time he was almost tempted to delete this reminder of his failure, but maybe it would come in handy someday. Afterward, he tried to distract himself by scrolling through twitter. It didn’t work.

\--------

Aziraphale was putting away the new books he had just acquired through an antiques dealer, smiling to himself. The last few days had been so lovely, seeing Crowley every day and visiting London’s parks was really enjoyable, even if it pained him to see Crowley so tense around others. 

After snapping his fingers to make some dust he just spotted disappear, he went over to his phone. He had read that phone calls could also be scary for people with social anxiety, so maybe he should call Crowley more often. Yes, he decided, he could call him daily to let him know when they could go outside together. 

~~Little did he know that exposing yourself to things you feared _every day_ was not, in fact, how you should handle anxiety. ~~

**Author's Note:**

> English isn't my first language so if you find any spelling and/or grammar mistakes, please tell me so I can improve! :D
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
